


i'm all over you

by wonthetrade



Series: I'm the girl you're always fighting for [3]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, F/M, Rule 63, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-12
Updated: 2016-05-12
Packaged: 2018-06-07 21:17:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6824698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wonthetrade/pseuds/wonthetrade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He'd meant it to be a sweet surprise, but he's had hours to think about it, think about her, and, well, he feels like he can't be blamed for what happens next.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i'm all over you

**Author's Note:**

> Based off of [this tumblr post](http://flyboys.co.vu/post/144207801440/castiel-knight-of-hell-which-half-of-your-otp). 
> 
> It's all Jo's fault. 
> 
> WARNING: As always, if you got here by googling yourself or someone you know trust me, you want to turn back right about now.

He feels like he’s been waiting forever, like Christmas is today and not three days from now, but they have some down time, a break before their game and an optional practice he will take advantage of. They need the break and, well, he needs her.

Except he’s forgotten that Carey, given the right combination of circumstances, can _sleep_. So he’s been up for hours, half way through the book he’s only supposed to be pretending to read and waiting.

Finally, _finally,_ he hears rustling from the bedroom, the sound of Carey getting up, shuffling around. The sink runs as she brushes her teeth, washes her face, and he scrambles to get back into position, just barely makes it by the time she stumbles out of the bedroom. She spares him a sleepy glance on the way to the kitchen for her coffee, humming a little as she pauses.

“Your book’s upside down,” she says, in the adorable confusion that only happens in the early morning.

And PK can’t hold it in any longer.

The book falls to the floor with a clatter, and Carey’s eyes widen the fraction of a second before he gets her up against the wall. Air rushes out of her and over his skin as he takes her mouth, plunders before she can so much as get her hands in working order. A moment later, however, her hands are clenched in the hem of his t-shirt and her tongue is battling his in his mouth. Everything is Carey, the way his heart thumps out the syllables of her name, his hands curling into the braid that’s coming apart from sleeping on it.

Carey, Carey, Carey.

He’s had hours to think about it, what would happen when she found him. Warm kisses, gentle hellos. Nothing this fast, this demanding, but after all of that time thinking about it, imagining her above him as they kiss, pulling her down into his lap, book forgotten, PK figures he’s well within his rights to need her skin under his hands, her hips arching up into his mouth.

He’s not gentle as he yanks her sleep shirt over her head, gives her breasts a cursory brush with his mouth on his way down to her navel, the cut of her abs. He mouths around her belly button while he yanks at her pants, gets them around her ankles before she can even really get a handle on what’s happening.

“Fuck, PK.”

He hums into her hip and oh, oh yes, her hips arch into the buzz against her skin. Her hand drops to his head for a moment, then tugs on his ear. He tips his head back to look up her naked body, ponders for a moment whether he wants to get up, take one of her breasts in his mouth, feel her push into it.

Her eyes are dark as she looks down at him, the want written all over his face. Her head thumps back against the wall and she helps him lift a foot from her pants, hooks it over his shoulder. “How long have you been up?”

“Hours,” he murmurs into her skin. “There was mistletoe.”

Carey lets out a choked laugh and pets at his ear, lets him duck down to mouth up the skin of her thigh. He’s made no secret of how much he likes eating her out, watching her calm steadiness deteriorate under the press of his mouth, the curl of his tongue. He knows her now too, how to tease with the brush of his lips, how to make her moan with the bite of his teeth. He leaves a mark on the inside of her thigh because he can, before curling his hands up to spread her open.

Her breath hitches as he leans in, exhales. A shiver ripples through the muscles of her legs, up against his cheek. He grins into her skin for a moment and hears her groan before he leans in and licks up the length of her. Her hips jump, arch just a little, like she’s trying to hold back. He knows it’s only a matter of time before that goes by the wayside and cups her ass in his palms. Carey shifts into the hold and he squeezes, kneads a little.

“PK,” she groans above him as he presses his tongue to her clit, holds it there so he can look up. There’s a flush on her cheeks that he knows for a fact trails down her breasts and her eyes are bright, wanting. “I thought you’ve been waiting hours.”

He knows a challenge when he hears one, especially from his goalie - and His Goalie, a deserving title, if anyone asks - and scrapes his teeth gently over her. Her hips arch, just the way he likes, and he follows the little circles she starts to make, tongue pressing, flicking, drawing circles until she can’t stop the little litany of noises in the back of her throat. He slides a finger down the crack of her ass, moves with her as she pushes back into it, begging with her body.

He pulls back as he slides a finger inside, feels her body clench reflexively around her. He’s careful about the second, but she chokes off another noise and tenses. He laughs, shaky and raw, because he knows what that sound means, knows what the tension in her thighs says about how close she is. Sure enough, he leans in and wraps his mouth around her clit, sucks as he crooks his fingers once, twice, and Carey goes totally stiff above him, body bowing away from the wall.

He works her gently through it, does his best to prolong it because he loves this, seeing her shaking and pliant and wonderfully spent. She pants harshly as she comes down, eyes blinking open before she gathers enough wits to slide her leg from his shoulder. She’s in his lap a moment later, kissing the taste of herself from his mouth.

“Fuck. Oh my god, PK.”

He laughs as best he can into the desperation of her mouth and knows what that means too. He’s glad for it, in a way, not that Carey’s ever left him hanging, but he’s hard as hell between her splayed thighs and god, he _wants_.

Eventually, when she’s sated herself on his mouth, she pulls away and braces her shoulders against the wall. He reaches for his sweats and she hums, shuffles off his lap and laughs at his disappointed noise.

“Back up,” she says, “Get your sweats off.”

He does, so distracted by it that he’s utterly stunned when he turns around to find her up on her knees, forearms braced against the wall and looking back at him over her shoulder. Her braid is long and messy down her back, right against her vertebrae and PK can’t stop himself from reaching out, running his hand from her neck to the curve of her ass. He shuffles up between her spread thighs, wraps his hand still wet with her slick around her hip. She arches back easily, gives him a fucking view if he does say so himself, and reaches back.

“Come on.”

He doesn’t hesitate. They’ve been doing this long enough that they know this is safe, Carey on birth control and living in each other’s pockets. She’s hot and wet when he slides inside and he uses the hand on her hip to pull her back a little more. His knees won’t thank him for the hardwood floor (her’s won’t either) but fuck if this isn’t worth it. Her spine is long and gorgeous as he splays his clean hand at the top of her back, slides it until it curls around her shoulder for leverage. She pushes back, palms flat on the wall as he starts up a steady thorough rhythm.

She stays with him, moves with him, pushes back against his every thrust. Her back flexes beautifully as he watches, shoulders shifting as she braces her forehead on her forearm and curls her hand around the back of his thigh. He starts thrusting in earnest then, uses the hand on her hip to slide down and press, just barely, against her clit. Carey gasps and shakes and it’s enough to send him careening over the edge.

He fucks her through it as best he can, lets her swivel her hips in dirty circles until she’s coming again too, then lets his head drop.

“You know,” he says panting into her shoulder. “This was supposed to be a cute mistletoe kiss, not dirty, Miss Price.” Carey hums and arches back into him. He groans, too overstimulated. “Goddamn it, woman.”

“You jumped me,” she reminds him, voice low and slow. She moans as he pulls out, stays utterly still where she’s trying to catch her breath. She shivers when he reaches for her because he can’t help it. He’s the cuddle bug after sex, needs the touch even when they’re both too shaky for it.

“Can you blame me?”

She laughs, then closes her eyes and he watches her steady herself, brace herself. A moment later she’s on her feet, turned so she can lean her back against the wall and hold herself up. “Shower?”

He takes her offered hand, leverages himself to his feet and stumbles into her. “Later,” he answers, because he’s spent enough to feel how he just wants to collapse. “Nap first.”

She lets him kiss her, hums amusement into his mouth. “I need to clean up. You made a mess.”

His entire body shakes with a want he can’t do anything with and he reaches down with gentle fingers, trails them against her thighs. “Fuck, Carey.”

She grins at him, triumphant and smug. “I think you just did.”

**Author's Note:**

> Come scream hockey with us on [tumblr](wonthetrade.tumblr.com)


End file.
